Note: The myth discussed in this chapter takes some details from King of Scars, so it could be considered spoilers-though just about the Ravkan saints, not the book itself.

Also: thanks to WinkieGuard for reviewing!

This, Jesper decided, was his favorite afternoon. He liked the mansion on Geldstraat well enough. It was difficult to dislike a place with a soft bed, warm meals, decent lager (he would have a word with Wylan about that), better liquor (not that he had partaken, not yet, but Jan Van Eck had fine taste in the hard stuff), one of his closest friends, and a gorgeous merchling to snuggle at night. Everything he could have thought to want, he had. And then some.

But it was a bit boring sometimes. A man needed things to do besides eating, drinking, and sleeping with Wylan. (Jesper knew he could have told himself this in different words, but was quite happy not to do that.)

Today was different.

Today, after Wylan returned from visiting his mother and Jesper convinced himself that was enough time with the horses, they and Inej headed to the harbor.

"You need to go first, Wy," Jesper said.

Inej nodded.

"Remember, it's your company."

Wylan took a deep breath and nodded. "Right," he said. Right, it was his company. He took another breath and hid his nervousness, sat up straighter. Though he couldn't hide the seasick look on his face, he did appear a little more mature this way.

Jesper didn't say a single inappropriate thing. This wasn't the occasion. He took a moment to enjoy the difference of being out here on the water. Fear of plague didn't bother the gulls, who squawked until he wished he had a rock to throw at them. Pulling his revolvers seemed a touch excessive, but give him another ten minutes of this, he might change his mind. The little boat had taken the waves hard, bad enough that even Jesper and Inej were a touch green around the gills from it. Now they were protected from the worst of it, their boat steady alongside the subtly named Legacy.

Wylan thanked the fisherman he had paid to bring them out here, then started up the rope ladder first.

Inej looked to Jesper.

"After you," he said, "you're going to make me look bad either way."

"True," she agreed, and alit onto the ladder like a sprite. He didn't know how she did it. If you asked Jesper, there was just the one basic way to climb a rope ladder. Somehow Inej turned it into a dance—because she was Inej. Of course she did.

On deck, Wylan shook hands with the ship's captain. He had drawn himself up to his full height for the conversation. With a knit cap keeping his curls in check, he almost looked his age.

"Thank you for having us aboard. I'm Wylan Van Eck, I'm running the company until my father is able to resume his position."

If he ever gets out of prison I'll shoot him in the guts so he dies slow, Jesper thought.

"This is Jesper Fahey."

Jesper shook the captain's hand. "Mister Van Eck's secretary."

The captain replied with a nod. Not polite, not impolite, just matter-of-fact. He wondered if he ought to have added a 'what business'. Neither merchants nor manners were Jesper's area of expertise. From the looks of the captain, though, rude or not, it hadn't bothered him.

"And Inej Ghafa."

Inej likewise offered a handshake. She was doing it again, that thing she did where she did what normal people did with a slight tilt of her head or set of her arms or turn of her foot that made clear she was in fact balancing through this world on a rope the rest of them could not see.

"Captain," Inej said.

"Miss Ghafa."

"Inej has a keen interest in seamanship. I had hoped she might have the chance to observe the Legacy in action," Wylan explained.

The captain frowned. It made his beard droop almost mournfully. "We'll stay anchored safe," he said, "until the plague has passed."

No one wanted to dock in Ketterdam. Out here, they were safe. The ship had come into no contact with anyone infected or potentially infected… at least until the owner of the company got pushy.

"I respect your concern for your health and that of your crew, but your cargo may not last the plague concerns," Wylan said. That was true: the Legacy's hold was stuffed with mangos, oranges, bananas, and coconuts. The coconuts would probably last a bit and the oranges could be made into marmalade, but the rest might rot before Ketterdam declared itself safe.

"We're not dying over a profit," the captain said.

The captain, Jesper thought, was not Kerch.

"Perhaps while we conduct negotiations, Miss Ghafa might have a tour of the ship?" Wylan suggested.

Jesper almost pitied whichever poor sailor thought they were going to show a tourist around. Inej was here for business. The three of them knew she would make it all of five feet before she had a dozen questions.

The captain agreed, and as expected, there were more than a few volunteers.

"Study hard, Inej," Jesper murmured.

Inej gave him a quick grin.

"I understand it's a risk," Wylan continued, "and because of that, the Van Eck shipping company will make funds available for mediks if anyone should contract plague-like symptoms."

It was an easy offer to make, knowing full well there would be no plague-like symptoms. It had sparked a whole discussion with the three of them, with Wylan wondering if they shouldn't just have that policy in general. People got sick, he said, they got hurt, wasn't it in the best interest of the company to help a valuable employee get better?

"And if they die?"

The captain thought he was pushing hard, shoving the little merch out of his depth with death. A year ago, he would have been right.

"Their families will be compensated," Wylan said without a flinch, "generously."

They had discussed this, too. They both knew Wylan wanted to start with a fair offer instead of bartering it away piecemeal, but that wasn't how things were done. It seemed rather than teaching him to look out for himself, his time in the Barrel had taught him that everyone was working very hard and those who could help ought to.

Jesper stood back, watching. This wasn't normal, Wylan acting assured and in control, and Jesper liked it.

He scanned the visible parts of the deck, but couldn't spot Inej. That meant nothing—partly because the entire deck wasn't visible, partly because Inej was silence and stealth incarnate. He wasn't worried about her. He just wanted to see her enjoying herself.

"All right," the captain gave in, "but if this goes south, it'll be remembered, Van Eck."

As he turned and began giving orders to the crew to raise the anchor, there was a distinctly cross tilt to his head.

"Good work," Jesper said, giving Wylan a quick kiss.

Wylan squeezed his hand. "Do you want to climb the ropes?" he asked.

"Saints, yes."

"Well, go on."

"Don't you want to ask the captain?"

Wylan shrugged. "He's already cross and it's my boat."

"Ship."

"I'll call my things whatever I like, Mister Fahey."

Jesper grinned. "Bold and bossy, I like this side of you."

Then he loped across the deck and hauled himself up into the rigging. One he got high enough he had a decent view of Inej, who looked like she was helping ready the ship for its stroll into its berth. They didn't have far to go, but that wouldn't stop her learning any more than it would stop him enjoying the feeling of all but flying.

As the ship began its slow move forward, Jesper felt the pressure shift as sails caught the wind. He grinned. The water seemed so calm from up here and briefly he considered jumping. Wouldn't that be fun, to jump from the rigging all the way to bay? But he was a little too uncertain what sort of injuries that entailed and opted for thinking about it rather than acting on that impulse.

They didn't have long. Jesper, keeping out of the sailors' way as best he could, scrambled higher. The air was cooler and cleaner on the water, and though he couldn't climb like Inej, he imagined this was something of how she felt high on a rooftop.

Except the house was moving.

And the roof was made of rope.

He would never be ridiculous enough to tell Inej as much, but he suspected his experience was better.

It all had to end eventually, of course. When the ship reached its berth, Jesper watched the goings-on below for a while before climbing back down to the deck.

It took time.

Inej continued to shadow the crew, learning more about the ship. Wylan stayed near the captain, learning and supervising at once. Jesper wandered close to him sometimes, to listen, to squeeze his hand, and more than once to climb the rigging again because it was fun. He thought he spotted someone familiar once, but he looked again and they were gone.

Wylan had arranged for half the cargo to be stored, the other half taken to Zelver District and sold. Hawking wares from a merchant gondel was cruder than Geldin District denizens tended to appreciate, but, Wylan wagered, they would make a tidy sum in Zelver District.

Jesper poked at Wylan's hair.

"Hey," Wylan objected. When Jesper didn't stop: "What are you doing? I don't have lice."

"I'm well aware of that. But clearly since you have both a mercher's mind and a demo man's mind, these curls are hiding some sort of cerebral protrusion."

"This is why you weren't studying anatomy, Jes…"

"I've been studying yours."

Wylan blushed.

"You're cute when you blush," Jesper murmured, which made him blush more.

When they were heading for the canals at last, Wylan said, "Thank you both for being there. Was it useful, Inej?"

She nodded. "I learned a good deal."

"You'll be great," Jesper said.

"You will," Wylan agreed. "But how would you know the right ships?"

Jesper frowned. Why was he doing that? Inej was excited about this. It was perfect for her and something she would excel at. Why look for problems?

"I didn't mean it was a bad plan," Wylan said, "only—I was thinking about the Ferolind, when we had the Haanraadt flag. Slavers probably do that, too, don't they?"

Ah—Jesper once more spotted someone he knew. He swallowed a sigh. Best to deal with this rather than let it spoil the evening.

"They do," Inej agreed. She explained things she knew, things she had learned—how to spot a ship in an unusual location or off season, what to look for in the sailors through a long glass.

Jesper had known she was serious about this, but he had not realized how much time and planning Inej had already put into preparing for her life at sea. That was a difference in the two of them. Inej decided something and laid out an orderly, researched plan. Jesper saw an opportunity and dove in. He learned best when he learned fast.

He reflected on it as he slipped away, leaving Inej and Wylan chatting happily about tactics for identifying slaving ships. He would catch up to them.

"Didn't think you'd make it this easy, Fahey."

Jesper was stopped by a couple of low-level types with knives. Really? Knives? He gave them an unimpressed look as his hands went to the mother-of-pearl handles of his revolvers.

"Don't try anything," warned one of the men. He pulled a pistol and though he drew slowly, Jesper removed his hands from his revolvers.

He could have killed them. He chose not to. A pre-fight buzz was starting and he wanted to enjoy it.

"Don't you think this is a mild overreaction?" Jesper asked. Really, they were making themselves look foolish.

"More of a major overreaction."

Whether or not the man understood 'overreaction' remained to be seen, but as two more men joined them, Jesper realized if this turned into a fight, it would be a good one. He felt a fizzing in his blood, a promise of adrenaline in the near future, and—

"What business, gentlemen?"

The fizzing came to a screeching halt. Jesper clenched his jaw; Wylan did not belong here. He was no good in a fight.

"Nothing to concern yourself with," Jesper said tightly. Go, Wy.

"My friends and I," said one of the less than impressive but notably armed men, "are collecting on a little debt. Black Tips will have what they're owed."

Wylan nodded. Despite the warning look in Jesper's eyes, he continued to approach, strolling into the middle of the fight. Dammit, Wylan. Jesper didn't know what had gotten into him, what he thought he was achieving here. He was no Kaz Brekker, not so thoroughly informed nor so wily as to manipulate his way out of this!

"What is the debt?" he asked, and Jesper narrowed his eyes. What exactly was he trying to achieve here? Scaring Jesper? Or embarrassing him?

"Wylan," Jesper muttered. "Later."

Wylan ignored him, which only frustrated Jesper more—what did Wylan Van Eck think he knew about a situation like this? It wasn't even a 'situation' for Jesper, just a chat he needed to diffuse. A fight he looked forward to having, just to let off a bit of tension.

One of the men named his debt owed to an Elias Breen.

So much? Jesper felt himself starting to blush and ordered the feeling away. He didn't know when he had got himself in that deep. And who the hell was Breen?

"Who the hell is Elias Breen?" Jesper asked.

"A man who wants his money." The statement was accompanied by a menacing step forward and that fizzle of excitement returned, Jesper shifting his stance to meet the challenge.

"He'll have it," Wylan said. Coolly as he would in a shop, he took his wallet from his pocket. Either Wylan had gotten over-confident or he was intentionally showing a decent stash of kruge when he only handed over—

"What is this?"

"Two hundred kruge," Wylan replied.

Jesper put a hand on Wylan's shoulder, bracing to push him back when the fighting started. Whatever he meant by that stupid move, it was leading to a fight.

"Are you deaf?"

"I'm not deaf. Or stupid. You didn't know Jesper would be here. You were lucky. If Breen doesn't trust you with this big a transaction, I won't, either. That's a down payment, you tell your boss to send someone of rank to the Exchange next Thursday and we'll settle this."

"Eleven bells."

"Business hours."

Breen's men scoffed.

"Business hours," Wylan repeated, something lofty creeping into his tone, "before lunch if you can manage to roll out of your beds by then."

Wylan.

He was going to get himself killed.

"And what's to stop us taking a little mercher boy like you for the debts and then some?"

Wylan shrugged. "Not much," he said, "I guess. But she won't like it."

"Who?"

"Me."

The word came from behind one of the men, the one to the far right who hadn't realized he had a shadow until Inej put her blade to his throat.

"You can have your debt, or you can have my friends," she said.

Saints, she was impressive.

Jesper couldn't see Inej in a romantic way. She was like a sister to him. He understood what Kaz saw, though. How fierce Inej could be. Her honed strength. Her perfect control. The way she could be absolutely terrifying even though he knew she never used more force and violence than she had to.

Her loyalty.

The company I keep, she had said. They might put her in tight spots, but she was there to drag them out.

"It's up to you," Wylan said, addressing the Black Tips.

Three of the men looked to their leader, the one who did the talking. He deliberated a moment. Then he nodded.

"All right," he said, "Thursday, then. The debt paid in full."

"Minus two hundred kruge," said Wylan.

With one last attempted ferocious look, the man turned, leading the others away. Only once they had cleared the corner did Jesper drop his hand from Wylan's shoulder.

"I didn't need you to do that," Jesper said.

"They were serious, Jesper," Inej said, slipping her knife into its sheath as she approached.

"I could've taken them!"

"You shouldn't have to," Wylan said.

Tense, Jesper told him, "I didn't ask you to fight my fights."

"Yes, you did," Wylan replied, and when Jesper opened his mouth to demand when he had evereven implied as much, Wylan continued, matter-of-fact, "That's the deal. It's the same as every time you've reached for my hand because I needed you and I mattered to you. You matter to me."

I don't need you. The words were harsh and false and Jesper bit them back.

He turned away. This wasn't how Jesper wanted the conversation to play out. He knew he had debts, even beyond the money he borrowed from his da—the money that was repaid now, made right. He hoped. He had wanted a fight. The little 'experiments' with his power did seem to soothe his mind a bit and so did time with Wylan, but they didn't scratch that itch inside him that cried out for adventure. A brawl would have been nice.

Seeming like he needed a rescue was something he liked less.

"Jesper," Wylan said.

Jesper gestured at him: "I need space."

He needed… what? He needed to fight, he needed to drink, he needed… his hands went to the revolvers at his sides. How was he already thinking it? Saints, how was he thinking it? But he was. He needed to play a hand or two, just enough to scratch an itch.

He hated himself for wanting it, but as he headed away, he wanted nothing more.

"Jes."

"Space."

The words came in such a rush, Jesper wasn't sure at first that he had understood Wylan properly: "That'll make it very difficult for me to fellate you."

Jesper stopped still in his tracks.

To what? He hadn't been sure Wylan knew about that act, let alone its name. While it wasn't the same fizzle, he couldn't deny he loved hearing Wylan talk dirty to him. A part of him wanted to hold onto his frustration, but if he did, he would miss the blush he knew would be painting Wylan's cheeks right now.

Jesper turned.

He was not disappointed.

Even Inej was staring.

The merch was gone. No more proud posture, raised chin, serious face. No more of the teenage boy who climbed onto a ship and gave its captain orders or stood up to admittedly low-level gangsters. In his place was someone with his pink face turned down and a half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Embarrassed, but not sorry.

Jesper closed the distance between them in seconds. They could deal with his smarting pride in a moment, for now, something else was happening that he was far keener on being part of.

"Wy, look at me."

Wylan did. His blush deepened, but his eyes lit. If Inej weren't there, Jesper might have pushed him against the wall and kissed him breathless. For now, he settled for ghosting his hand over Wylan's shoulder, barely any pressure—not to hurt him, to remind him of that morning. It might not be the fizzle of a fight, but the crackling air between the two of them was nothing to scoff at.

"I…" Wylan said. "I… was…"

Jesper kissed him once, gently. "Wylan Van Eck, you are priceless." A high compliment by Kerch standards. Turning to Inej, he said, "Wylan's buying us all waffles. And I don't need you paying my debts."

He knew it was a mistake as soon as he said it. They could have moved on, but he picked a fight. Wylan raised his chin again, the way he did when he was being stubborn and thought he was right.

"If I don't pay, you're still living under them. Something's going on—there's no way you had much more than that in debt. I don't know why the Black Tips bought up your debts and I don't know who Breen is. All I know is he thinks he can hurt you. If all I have to protect you with is kruge, then—at least I have that. Now you won't be able to tease me about running up a tab."

"Not for another month or two," Jesper replied, setting himself at a very high price to make light of this. He reminded himself that he didn't want to fight. The prospect of a fistfight excited him, but the prospect of an argument with Wylan stirred up the beginnings of shame.

"Four."

"Six weeks and you're getting a bargain! See, I can play 'merchants and shopkeepers', too."

Wylan laughed, a sound Jesper hadn't known he needed to hear, and said, "One of you will have to lead because I don't know where to get the best waffles in Ketterdam."

"I do," Jesper said.

"I trust you," Inej said, something else he hadn't realized he needed to hear, even if only about waffles.

Along the way, Jesper found his mind drifting back to that earlier thought. Pushing Wylan against the wall and kissing him. He would have liked that. He'd talk to Wylan about it first, though. Wylan was strong in his own way, Jesper had seen Kaz push him and get a furious glare in response, but it wasn't about what he could handle. It was about what he would enjoy. Jesper would ask, find out if Wylan would like that.

In the meantime he was satisfied putting an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. Wylan settled against Jesper, tapping his arm gently three times before going still.

He knew a place that made savory waffles. It was ridiculous, but somehow delightful, and the three of them took their waffles and went to sit on a bench near the canal. It was far enough off the water to be nice.

"What are the Saints?" Wylan asked.

Inej and Jesper both gave him curious looks. What sort of question was that?

Wylan shrugged. "I was never taught," he said. "I only learned the Books of Ghezen, not the Saints. Like—Sankt Lizabeta?"

"Sankta Lizabeta," Inej corrected.

"Sankta Lizabeta. Who was she? Why is her symbol the rose?"

"How do you know her symbol's the rose?" Jesper asked.

"It's on Inej's knife."

Inej told the story.

"When Lizabeta was 18, raiders came to Ravka's shores. Everyone was afraid, not only in her town, everywhere in West Ravka. They went to sleep afraid. Some woke up afraid, too, but not Lizabeta. She woke up grateful. She knew she had survived another night. She knew the sky was beautiful and clear and the grass was green and sweet. Sankta Lizabeta was scared like everyone else, but she didn't live in fear. When the raiders reached her town, most of the villagers hid, but Lizabeta faced the raiders in a field of white roses. She begged for mercy, but they refused to listen."

"Shockingly," Jesper added.

Wylan shushed him. Jesper's attention had been torn between Inej and his waffle; now he noticed the rapt expression on Wylan's face, his eyes wide and shining.

Jesper knew Inej's version of the story was embellished. He was not especially religious, but had spent enough time in church with his da to know the story tended to focus more on the miracle than on the girl herself.

He looked again at his friends. Inej was looking off, wrapped up in her story. Wylan was looking at Inej. He hadn't even turned away to shush Jesper. They both looked so meaningful, Jesper kept his comments to himself.

"Lizabeta didn't run or cry. She fell to her knees and prayed, even with the men bearing down on her, even when she felt their footsteps shake the ground. Even when she could smell them coming, their sweat, their last meal on their breath… she wasn't scared. She wasn't afraid of the men."

Jesper didn't notice it until Wylan placed his waffle in his lap and his hands on Inej's. She glanced at him and smiled, the tension in her shoulders lessening.

"Maybe Sankta Lizabeta was very brave," Wylan said softly, "but she was scared at the same time."

"Maybe she wasn't scared at all. Maybe that was why the gods heard her prayer and sent a swarm of bees to stop the raiders. They saved her whole town."

"Maybe the Saints only had one purpose," Jesper suggested.

"Jesper," Inej scolded.

"Well they did all die," he pointed out. "Lizabeta was drawn and quartered by the next village over when she couldn't repeat her miracle."

"How did they know she couldn't?" Wylan asked.

"I assume the raiders came," Jesper said.

"If the raiders came, they all would have been too dead to kill Lizabeta," Wylan said. "Maybe they killed her because they were afraid of her."

"Maybe they didn't understand that a miracle is not like flint and steel to be struck at a moment's notice," Inej said.

"Maybe they didn't kill her at all and she ran away because her village was full of cowards who left her to face the raiders alone," Jesper said.

"Then how did the roses turn red?" Inej replied.

Jesper shrugged. "They could've always been red."

"From the field where she prayed?" Wylan asked.

"Yes, the roses where Lizabeta prayed," Jesper explained, "they were white but turned red with her blood. If you two don't want your waffles, I'll eat them."

The reminder was enough for both of them to take a bite, though after he had swallowed, Wylan did say, "We can have seconds if you're still hungry."

"Okay," chorused Jesper and Inej.